Once upon a time, there was a little girl who loved
her father very dearly. Whenever something went wrong or
she was afraid, her father was always there to help and
comfort her, "Be quiet, Papa is here." He would tell the
most beautiful stories of "bei uns dehoum," (in Schwowisch
dialect, "at home, in the old country") in the Batschka,
the region in Serbia where the Danube and Theiss flow
together. There were enormous fields with sunflowers and
Klatschmohn (poppies), "Bulke," (turkeys), marvellous sweet
fruits in the summer, and chickens and geese walking on the
dusty roads. The little girl loved these stories of "bei uns
dehoum" and wished she could see this paradise just once.
She grew up, and when she was eight years old, her father
took her on a journey to that country - "bei uns dehoum" -
where he was born. And at last, the “dehoum” in her
father’s stories became real.

There were
friendly people everywhere who warmly welcomed them. When
the hay was taken in from the field by horse-pulled wagon,
the girl was allowed to sit on top of the wagon. In the
evenings she helped to bring the geese into the yard from
the street. She also learned how to kernel corn and feed
the pigs. She played with other children on the dusty
streets and soon made new friends. When threshing took
place, many volunteers came to help. Then a bean soup was
cooked, several blankets were spread on the ground in the
yard, and everybody sat around a long board and ate
together. Nothing was in abundance, but whatever people had
was gladly shared with the helpers, and all were happy
and content. The hospitality and the warm welcome made an
unforgettable impression on the girl.

Although
this sounds like a fairy tale, I am the girl in the story,
which took place in the year 1967, and I became interested
in my Danube-Swabian roots at an early age.

My father
had told me much about our homeland and our family. He was
only twelve years old when, on October 6th, 1944,
he and his family had to leave their village in the
Batschka, and were sent into an uncertain future. During
their escape, they often had to sleep on the ground,
sometimesspending the night in a meadow and waking up in the
morning with dew on their eyelashes. Babies were born
during the flight; some never survived a day. The family
had to walk long distances, not knowing whether they would
ever see their village again. One night in February 1945,
during the devastating bomb attack on Dresden, they were not
far from a village. My father could never forget the images
of the night sky illuminated as bright as day. Later they
learnt that many of their compatriots had been among
the victims, as Dresden at that time was overflowing with
refugees. My grandparents were as old as I am today, and
everything they had worked for had to be left behind.

When they
arrived in Germany, the Donauschwaben were not welcome.
"Refugees, what do you want here? We don’t have anything
either!” Just as it had been with our ancestors over two
hundred years ago, they had to begin from scratch. They had
endured devastating times, but with much diligence they
created a new life for themselves. Their shared experiences
drew the community closer together and their solidarity gave
them the strength to make a new start in this difficult
time. The Danube-Swabians began to organize themselves.
An important and significant celebration in the village was
the "Kerweih" (church-blessing), a celebration
where everybody gathered after the harvest had been brought
in. Thus, they resolved, rather than merely resigning
themselves to having survived their ordeal, to stand their
ground and make a fresh start. And each year they
celebrated Kerweih like "dehoum".

When I
became older, my father took me to the Kerweih every year.
I still remember how he proudly led me around the hall and
introduced me to all the people. He would say, "He was a
neighbour of ours." or "We are related to this woman." I
was always happy to be there, and seeing my father's eyes
light up when the dance began and the band played, made me
feel very fortunate. I was proud to be part of this large
Danube-Swabian family.

In the year
1989, fate struck our family when my father was diagnosed
with malicious cancer, and our family doctor told us, that
if it continued to grow, he would only have one year to
live. We prayed, “How could it be, he is only 58 years old,
please, dear God, let him live!” Operations,
hospitalizations, chemotherapy and radiation followed. Our
family was under extreme stress like never before. We did
not want to leave our father alone and drove to the hospital
daily to be with him for the radiation. This taught us what
it means to be a family.

"You belong together, you are
a family!" he always said. We could now return the love
which he had always given us. Through a miracle, he
recovered from his illness and his health gradually
improved. Even during this time, when he could no longer
drive himself, he never missed a Kerweih (Kirchweih). He
had five more beautiful years before he died on February 11th,
1994. I always drove him and my mother to the meetings,
even though my mother is not a Donauschwaben. The closeness
of the community gave me strength and it is still a comfort
for me now to attend the Kerweih, because I know how happy
my father had been there. But it is not only for comfort -
it is obligation, legacy and deep gratitude for everything
that my father had done for us, and that we were allowed to
grow up in peaceful times. Why do I write all of this?
Three years ago, I began to search the Internet for
information about the Danube-Swabians.

My Dad and
my Mama on the right side, the blonde little one laughing,
that's me in 1967,
and the little boy on the man's knees is my younger brother
Rüdiger at age 3.

Written in 2003.

I
visited Katsch with my husband in May 2003 and found
Steve Stajic, my father's best friend. We had stayed at
his house for two weeks in 1967 when I was in Katsch the
first time. He hugged me and kissed me like a lost
daughter and we both cried. I missed my dad so much and
I wished he could be there with me. I have made new
friends, and meanwhile, my younger brother's daughter
Alena is travelling to our ancestors' homeland with me.